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wherefore art thou, stupid

by Gabriel Ricard

The orange fingers numbered in the millions,
and they were reaching down as though the piano blues
could get away with not looking silly in the morning light.

You save those kinds of songs for when you really need them.
Wait until the walk home is longer
than the heart you’ve been saving for the smallest task in town.

The radio station that gets you through the morning
should be your own. Save the sorrowful stuff
for when the tree branches fill the streets,
with stories about how the wind
almost took them around the world.

Or save it for when you get down to the familiar street,
and you know which doorways would be safe,
and which ones would send you to jail or rehab,
with 199 dollars taped to your chest.

Be a captain of an industry where the top on your car
gets stuck just as soon as the stars start falling.

Wait for the day when either love saves you
from buying all the Valentines a 600 dollar tab can get you,
or for when the Ferris wheel forgets to take you out
at the crossroads by just about a second and a half.

Do whatever you want,
but your back is going to break
from trying to keep the color in your cheeks.

From all those mornings where someone has to drive
all the way out to that horrible little town by the sea,
to bring you a thermos full of coffee.

You’re not a living assortment of cheap fabrics and bad values.
You’re not going suddenly going to be able to tell the difference
between the mothers and fathers of Christmas Eve just getting up for work,
and the mothers and fathers of Christmas Morning,
just getting up to catch the bus back to wherever
they caught the bus the last time.

They can only go but so far back in time.
You’re not nearly that bad off.

You still a lucky glass eye saved in a drawer, right?

Can you remember the last you ignored
someone you love calling out for your over the loudspeakers?

Great. You’re ready for whatever you want to do
the next time you wake up on a flight to Miami.

10/16/2012

Posted on 10/17/2012
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Max Bouillet on 10/22/12 at 11:36 PM

Images and emotions mix on this airplane to Miamai. I am not sure what you did in order to get this flight but I am pretty sure TSA wouldn't approve.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/06/12 at 01:13 AM

Neat dialogue...lingo, Gab. Reminds me of that Johnny Depp movie about Hunter S. Thompson. Fun trip, and no drugs necessary, at least not at this end.

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